


A Ratchet Christmas Carol

by TheDuckofIndeed



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: Christmas, Humor, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 05:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDuckofIndeed/pseuds/TheDuckofIndeed
Summary: It is Christmas Eve, and Ratchet just wants to spend a peaceful Christmas with Clank, an impossible task when Qwark shows up and Nefarious attacks Metropolis just to be a jerk, causing Ratchet to wonder if his life would have been better if he had never begun adventuring in the first place. A parody of "A Christmas Carol", with elements of "It's a Wonderful Life".





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not Christmas time, but enjoy a silly story I wrote in 2014 that was inspired by A Christmas Carol and It's a Wonderful Life.

Evening found the immense buildings and bustling streets to be veiled in a curtain of snowfall, multicolored lights glimmering amongst the snowflakes from where they hung in tree branches above the heads of people all heading home for the day, a spring in the step to be detected in most of those out right now that wouldn’t normally be expected in such chill weather. This scene put no question in anyone’s mind, organic or robot alike, that it was surely Christmas Eve in Metropolis, which could be the only explanation for the cheer in the air and the inexplicable smell of peppermint.

And in one particular apartment high above dwelt two more getting ready for tomorrow, a certain Lombax and robot pair that had had more than their fair share of busywork this past year, making one holiday all about relaxing and good times with friends all the more appealing. Saving the galaxy (and sometimes, the universe) on more than one occasion was quite a trying affair, not to mention all the other troubles the two found themselves involved in, by accident or otherwise, and Christmas was just what they needed, and if Ratchet had anything to say about it, it couldn’t come sooner.

Currently, the Lombax in question was reclining on the couch in front of a large holo-screen, doing battle with hordes of lycanthropic space Vikings, not horribly different from what he normally spent his time doing (minus the lycanthropic space Vikings), but it was quite a different experience entirely when you weren’t really in mortal peril and you could conveniently drink Qwark-cola (occasionally shortened to a rather hard to say Qola) from the comfort of your own couch.

Behind him, Clank was busy with the finishing touches to their small Christmas tree, complete with presents beneath its boughs they had gotten for each other and from friends that couldn’t make it this year (which, when it came to some of them, was a relief).

“Do you think we should put up the ornament we got from Captain Qwark last year?” Clank asked.

The Lombax paused his game after just dealing the finishing blow to the boss of level 8, a particularly nasty vampire dragon that shot razor sharp bats from a cannon mounted on its back (Ratchet had to admit that this was one of the more ridiculous enemies he had encountered thus far), to look back at his friend.

“We still have that?” he asked, wincing at the ornament Clank held up in one hand from where the robot stood on the stepladder beside the tree. The ornament in question depicted the superhero dressed as some kind of ridiculous cop from one of his movies, shirt unbuttoned and hairy chest exposed (as the need for a Tetrafiber vest for someone in law enforcement had apparently been overlooked) and a blaster in either hand.

Clank frowned at the monstrosity for a moment longer before returning his attention to his friend. “I feel guilty throwing it out, but I think re-gifting it would be even worse.”

“Yeah, that would be pretty mean,” Ratchet said, as a sly smile spread across his lips. “If I had remembered we still had that, I’d have sent it to Nefarious.” The Lombax turned back around, picking up the controller again. “Just get rid of it. It’s not like he’ll ever know.”

Ratchet began the next level of his game, which opened with a hectic dogfight against the fleet of the vicious Vi-King, while a question resurfaced in his mind that had been nagging at him these last few weeks. “So, are you _still_ not going to tell me what you got me for Christmas?”

He heard a thump as the ornament was, at long last, put where it belonged. “Ratchet, you know very well that it is proper protocol to wait _until_ Christmas before opening presents.”

“Yeah, but Christmas is technically only a few hours away.”

“Six hours and 37 minutes to be exact,” the robot said. “And people typically wait until the _morning_ of—”

“Oh, come on, Christmas doesn’t have to be that strict! And if you tell me, I’ll tell you what I got _you_ for Christmas,” he said, the conversation doing nothing for his concentration as the right wing of his ship got blown clean off, sending it careening out of control into the nearest asteroid. “Darn it!”

“No, I do not want to know what you got me until tomorrow.”

“Fine,” the Lombax said, as he was forced to start the space battle over again from the beginning. Under his breath, he added, “That won’t stop me from opening my presents after you go to bed.”

“I heard that.”

He continued his game, having much more success this time, until he found his ship to be pursued by a pack of carnivorous, flying…space elk? With his concentration restored, he took them out with a few well-placed mines. “I am good.” He began to sniff the air. “You’re not burning that candle again, are you?”

“The woman at the store said it was intended to be ‘festive’.”

Sure enough, the air was beginning to smell like gingerbread, and Ratchet’s stomach grumbled. “You know food-scented candles make me hungry.” How was he supposed to concentrate on fending off space Vikings when the air smelled like cookies? Cookie-scented air or not, however, after several more tries, Ratchet finally managed to reach the Vi-King’s ship at the center of the fleet. Let’s do this.

He barrel-rolled to the left just in time to avoid an enormous laser directed at him, and then he was taking out the Vi-King’s cannons one by one with his homing missiles. This would be easy. Almost too easy. Several more minutes of intense fighting, and he was almost there. The Vi-King’s ship was nearly done for, smoke pouring off of it and most of its defenses crippled. He just had to take out the bridge, and it would all be over.

Ratchet was startled by a needlessly loud knock on the door, his ship disintegrating as the Vi-King’s laser caught it and his heart sinking when he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the door.

“Open up, cadets, and prepare for a visit from your old pal, CQ!” After a pause, the voice added in a less epic tone, “And by CQ, I meant Captain Qwark, just in case…you didn’t get that…”

Game forgotten with more urgent concerns on his mind, Ratchet spun around on the couch, hands clutching the back. “Clank, don’t…”

“Why, hello, Captain Qwark. How nice to see you,” Clank said, and Ratchet groaned at seeing the door no longer closed and able to protect him from one of the faces he wanted to see least of all this Christmas Eve. The ornament was more than enough.

The suspiciously muscular man tramped in (while he denied ever having used steroids, Ratchet was pretty sure this was only because he didn’t know what they were), his coat, well, coated with snow, pulling off striped, woolen mittens and a green scarf, a duffel bag tucked under one arm that could only mean bad things were in store for them in their future.

“It’s chilly out there,” the superhero said, mittens and scarf being dropped onto Clank for safekeeping, while Ratchet stared at him. “Would you take care of these for me? Thanks.”

“Qwark, what are you doing here?” the Lombax asked, as he heard his ship crash again on the screen behind him due to his neglecting to pause the game at the arrival of their unexpected guest.

The man dropped his bag beside the door before unzipped his coat, while Clank worked on extricating himself from the scarf that had wrapped itself around him.

“What are you talking about?” Qwark asked, taking off his coat and dropping it onto the nearby coat hook, causing Ratchet’s own jacket to slip to the floor, before striding forward, leaving puddles of snowy water in his wake, his next words emphasized with several, well-placed dramatic gestures. “It’s Christmas time, a time for gift-giving and friends and family gathered around a fireplace. A time for good will towards men, and probably women, too, and those…candies that look like snowmen, except they actually have peanut butter inside. And you,” by now, the man had reached the Lombax and gave him a pat on the head, unaware of the glowering he received in response, “my fine, furry friend, get the awesome honor of having Captain Copernicus Qwark at your Christmas this year.”

Ratchet shook his head hard enough to make his large ears flop from side to side, as he pushed himself back from the couch to stand on his own two feet, slightly farther away from the superhero, but not nearly as far as he would have liked. “Wait a minute, no, uh-uh!” Ratchet began, arms waving around in front of him. “You’re not staying here! Not—!”

But, further protests were cut short when Qwark put one arm around Ratchet, squeezing the breath out of him. “Don’t you worry your little, Lombax head over it. If you’re concerned about space, I’ll just bunk with you for the night. Word of advice, though. I tend to snore, so you’ll probably want to try to fall asleep as quickly as possible.”

The Lombax struggled free from the other man’s grip, almost tripping over the coffee table behind him in his effort to escape. “That’s not— Look, Qwark, we didn’t invite you, and we had a rough year. Clank and I planned on just having a peaceful Christmas to ourselves tomorrow. Okay?”

Qwark’s grin finally faltered, his face taking on a confusion that was not at all out of place for such a man. “But, I brought presents and everything. And it’s Christmas. A time for—”

Ratchet threw his head back in exasperation, hands to his face. “I know what it’s a time for, but—”

“We would be happy to have you stay with us. Wouldn’t we, Ratchet?”

They both directed their attention to the small robot who had been all but forgotten during their conversation, Qwark’s scarf now folded neatly in his hands, the mittens resting atop. Ratchet’s mouth hung open. “What? You don’t…”

“Captain Qwark is right,” Clank began.

“I never thought I’d ever hear those words.”

“Ratchet. He is right, it is Christmas time, and we cannot turn our friends away, now can we?”

“But…”

“Great!” Qwark went to rummage through the bag on the floor before emerging with several holo-discs in hand. “And I even brought some of my movies. I have ‘My Blaster Runs Hot’, ‘Unicop’, and my newest, ‘Cloudy with a Chance of Awesome’. If you’re not familiar with that last one, it’s where I play a ruggedly handsome weatherman turned vigilante targeted by the Fongoid mafia after their picnic is ruined by an inaccurate weather forecast. It even has two hours of deleted scenes! It’s like a whole extra movie! So, which do you want to see first?”

Ratchet stared at him and, finding no other way out of his current predicament, simply sat back down on the couch, with the hope that ignoring the problem would perhaps make it go away. He picked up his game controller and turned the console off. May as well not have _another_ thing he was looking forward to ruined.

“Okay. Clank, what about you?”

“I…do not believe I have a preference.”

Ratchet grabbed the remote, trying to find something, anything, to watch, but settled for the news when nothing else decent could be found, just for the noise.

“I guess I’ll just have to pick, then. All right, ‘Cloudy with a Chance of Awesome’ it is, then. There’s this one scene where I do battle with a mobster Santa Claus that would be just perfect for Christmas.”

Ratchet began to slouch in an attempt to disappear into his seat and turned the volume up, though this only caused Qwark to yell louder. “Oh, Ratchet, why don’t you open this one present early?”

The Lombax looked down to find a small box dropped onto his lap. Picking it up, he narrowed his eyes at the Qwark-patterned wrapping paper that adorned it.

“Come on. Open it. I wanna see what you think.”

Ratchet glared at the grinning Captain Qwark, the real one, before returning his attention to the box, shaking it next to his ear a few times to hear clattering inside. He began to tear the paper off with no small amount of trepidation. It was not unheard of for Qwark’s gifts to induce nightmares even weeks later. He opened the box, unable to withhold a yell at what he saw.

Clank appeared from behind Qwark, with a reluctance that said he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know the answer to his next question. “What is…oh, my…”

The Lombax had picked up by the string another ornament in Qwark’s image, this particular atrocity even more traumatic than the last. This one had Qwark in a seductive Santa costume. Ratchet gagged.

“So…do you like it?”

Ratchet couldn’t tear his eyes away, no matter how much he wanted to, like he was staring at a gruesome car wreck. “That’s…that’s certainly…you, all right.”

“I know, it is, isn’t it? Hand it over, and I’ll hang it on the tree.”

“No, that’s—” He attempted to evade, but found the ornament to be snatched from his hands before he could get it out of the larger man’s reach. Perhaps throwing it would have been more effective.

“There. Perfect.”

Ratchet chanced a look backwards to find the ornament placed dead center on the tree, causing its appointed branch to droop horribly with the burden it was forced to bear (as did Ratchet’s soul). He immediately faced the holo-screen again, trying to erase the image of their violated tree from his mind while he turned the volume up higher when Qwark questioned Clank on what sandwich ingredients they currently had in their possession. If he couldn’t hear the man, maybe he wasn’t really there….

“Ratchet, could you turn that down?” Clank asked.

“Fine!” He grumbled to himself as he did just that, before slouching further into the couch, trying doubly hard to dissolve right into it, and crossed his arms, glaring straight ahead with enough intensity that he believed for a second that he might be able to light the wall ahead of him on fire. No, that wouldn’t do him any good. If the whole place burned down, Qwark would probably still survive. That was his luck lately.

“Ooh, is that gingerbread?”

“Why, yes. The woman at the store said it would be quite festive.”

Ratchet growled, biting his lower lip and trying to ignore the conversation going on behind him, while the news anchors Kip Darling and Pepper Fairbanks discussed the controversy over the plastic surgery that Janice, one of the stars of the “Lance and Janice” soap opera, had undergone, but he couldn’t help but take notice of an alarming comment from Qwark. The Lombax spun around to peek over the back of the couch, finding the superhero digging something out of the trash.

“Huh, I wonder how _this_ got in here. Good thing I found it.” The man then proceeded to head for the tree, holding the old ornament Clank had attempted to dispose of in one hand and a plate bearing a sandwich in the other, and Ratchet looked away before he had to see what came next, though it wasn’t long before the superhero plopped down on the couch beside him.

“What are you watching?” Qwark said, before biting into his sandwich, continuing with his mouth full, “Oh, the news, huh? Educational. Good for you.”

Ratchet was up before the man could finish talking, heading for the fridge and trying his best not to look at the desecrated tree, picking up his pace when he stepped in a puddle of cold water Qwark’s boots had left behind. He opened the fridge and took out a carton of eggnog, inspecting its surface. “Great, Clank just had to get the non-alcoholic kind, didn’t he?”

“Hey, you guys, you better come look at this!” Qwark said.

Ratchet frowned, putting the carton down on the counter and heading over to join the other two by the couch. The video in the upper right corner of the screen showed Metropolis under attack, the buildings aflame and smoke rising high into the air, while Kip spoke, “This just in, several strange spacecraft have just appeared over Metropolis and have begun to open fire on the city below. Officials are not yet sure who is responsible, but the Galactic Rangers have been sent out to combat the attack.”

“Well, I hope everyone got their Christmas shopping done,” Pepper said, her voice with a cheer that stood in stark contrast to the scene going on behind her.

“Don’t you worry, Pepper, I’m sure your husband’s already sold more of his vital organs in order to buy you the most exorbitant piece of jewelry out there.”

Pepper laughed. “At least I’m not alone on Christmas, Kip.”

“I’m sure your husband wishes he was.... Ahem, it appears we’ve gotten some new information on—”

Qwark yelled out and dropped his sandwich, the snack missing his lap and landing in a dilapidated mess on the couch, when the screen changed to static, the three of them watching it in silence and waiting for what surely came next, and then the static was replaced by darkness and a single red light.

Ratchet sighed. “Oh, no…”

A grating voice filled the room as Dr. Nefarious stepped back from the screen, “Greetings, miserable squishies, and merry Christmas!” He clasped his metal hands together. “What do you think of my early Christmas present? It’s just a little something to say I’m thinking of you.” He began to cackle, while Lawrence could be seen in the background, dusting a vase.

“Do you get it?” the supervillain continued, “That was a joke! Because…” He twisted around to look at his robotic butler. “Lawrence, quit dusting; it ruins the effect!”

“Apologies, sir,” Lawrence said, turning to face the screen, but eyeing his unfinished work with feather duster in hand, nonetheless.

Nefarious faced forward again with only a moment of composure before attempting his maniacal monologue again, “As I was saying, it was a joke…because I’m _not_ thinking of you! You see, it’s the exact opposite of what I meant!”

“Excellent use of sarcasm, sir,” Lawrence said, his attention directed, however, on the vase, as if he could just see the new particles of dust now gathering on it.

The doctor leaned forward, only half of his face visible due to his unnecessary proximity to the screen, his voice growing low. “By for now, squishies…”

The screen returned to static before the picture was restored to a very flustered Kip and Pepper.

“Well, I guess that clears up who’s behind this,” Kip said, straightening his papers.

“Yes, because otherwise I would’ve assumed it was your ex-wife.”

“Pepper…”

“Why, of all the no good, rotten…” Qwark began, pointing to the video behind the two news anchors that showed the state of Metropolis, “I think that’s where I get my pedicures done. Now I’m going to have to find someplace else. Annabelle knew just how to shave my toes….”

Ratchet cringed before returning his attention to Clank. “Should we go see what we can do, Clank?”

“Yes, I suppose we should.”

The two of them began to head for the door, the Lombax donning his jacket before grabbing his trusty wrench from where he had left it by the wall, while Clank took his rightful place on his back. He turned back to see Qwark still on the couch, attempting to eat his now misshapen sandwich with a sullen look on his face.

“Well, are you coming?”

Qwark looked over, bits of lunch meat sticking out of his mouth. “Are you kidding me? It’s like, 60 degrees out!”

“It would not even be snowing if…” Clank began, but Ratchet spoke over him.

“The city was just…” He turned away with a sigh, giving the man a dismissive wave. “Ah, forget it. You just stay here, and we’ll go save the city again!”

“Fine, you do that!”

Ratchet’s head shot back. “Fine, we will!”

“Okay, then!”

“All right!”

“Ratchet, we really must be going.”

Ratchet snarled at the so-called superhero a moment longer before leaving the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Well, this wasn’t how he wanted to spend Christmas Eve, but he supposed it would at least give him a chance to escape from Qwark for a while.

***---***

The pair returned home late that night, Ratchet bruised and a bit singed after dealing with the troopers Nefarious had left behind and attempting to help put out the fires the attack had created. While the doctor’s ships had withdrawn not long after the two of them had left the apartment, they had still caused a good deal of damage to the city, not to mention to Ratchet’s spirits.

Clank dropped down as the Lombax returned his wrench to its spot by the door and surveyed the space. While the lights and the holo-screen had been left on, Qwark himself was nowhere to be found.

“Good, is he gone?” Ratchet took off his jacket and attempted to hang it back on its usual hook, pausing when he found it to still be occupied. Maybe Qwark had forgotten his coat…. He looked down. And his bag. Grunting, the Lombax hung his jacket on the hook beside Qwark’s and began to pull off his gloves, dropping them onto the couch before grabbing the remote and turning the holo-screen off, while Clank had stopped nearby to frown at the plate left on the coffee table, complete with crumbs and a strip of bread crust.

With nothing left to do but locate the man he knew must surely still be around, Ratchet padded over to his room, prepared for the worst, and opened the door, the sound of snoring greeting him. He let out a groan and closed the door, turning to Clank as the robot carried the plate to the kitchen.

“He’s in my bed!” He began to follow his friend. “He’s in my bed, Clank! How are we supposed to enjoy our Christmas with _him_ here?” he said, pointing in the direction of the room housing the man in question. Ratchet could almost swear he could still hear the snoring through the walls.

“Ratchet,” Clank said, shaking the plate out over the trash, “I know Captain Qwark can be—”

“Obnoxious? Idiotic? A huge, arrogant jerk?” Ratchet stomped over to the eggnog carton he had forgotten to put away, which had since begun to turn warm, causing the Lombax to just now take notice of how high Qwark had turned the heater up while they were away. If it had gone bad, he’d save it for Qwark to drink tomorrow….

“Well…” Clank put the plate in the dishwasher, silent as he thought over his next words. “I know…the two of you do not always get along, but it is Christmas, and Captain Qwark simply wants someone to spend it with. We cannot hold _that_ against him.”

“Oh, yes, we can,” Ratchet said, his voice low, closing the fridge after having returned the eggnog to its proper place. Please be spoiled.

“And it is just for one day. Perhaps we can have Christmas to ourselves next year.”

The Lombax paced by, arms out from his sides, while Clank turned to watch him. “Next year, sure! Things will be better next year!” He huffed. “Qwark’s probably going to ruin the next Christmas, too, and the next. And Nefarious and whatever other lowlife that likes to make our lives miserable.” He spun around to face his friend. “Why can’t he spend Christmas with someone else? Come on, there’s still time. Can’t we just wake him up and…”

“Ratchet…”

“Oh, I know, or,” Ratchet held up one finger of each hand before him, “…don’t argue with me until you’ve heard it…or, we get in our ship and just go somewhere. I don’t even care where it is. Just somewhere where no one can find us.”

“Ratchet, I know this is not what you wanted, but we will just have to make the best of it. Christmas is not a time to be selfish.”

The Lombax’s voice rose. “Selfish? How am I being selfish? I work my butt off all year fighting jerk-faces that want to cause trouble for other people or cleaning up after Qwark when he screws things up, and I’d just like, for one day of the year, to have a little peace. Is that really too much to ask?”

“It is, when your decision hurts someone else.”

Ratchet threw his arms up over his head. “Okay, fine, just side with him. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“I am not—”

“Forget it. Qwark can just have his Christmas. I don’t care. You two have fun tomorrow.” He turned the thermostat down to 60 (have fun getting out of bed in the morning, Qwark) before heading to the couch, grabbing his gloves from where he had left them and tossing them onto the table. He dropped onto the couch and laid down on his side, sitting up again just long enough to wipe away crumbs that stuck to his face. How did Qwark even manage to get crumbs on this side of the couch?

“Ratchet…”

“Forget it. Just go to bed.”

“Won’t you get cold?”

“No, it’s like 90 degrees in here because Captain ‘it’s chilly out there’ turned the heater up!”

There was silence, and then the sound of a door opening and closing. Not long later, Clank appeared from around the couch with a pile of blankets and a pillow in his arms. Ratchet rolled around to his other side, his back now to the robot.

“In case you need them.”

Not long later, the lights went off, and then he heard the sound of another door, but beyond that, not another sound greeted him, the Lombax, at long last, finally left to himself. Ratchet sighed. Why him? Why was _he_ the one that had to deal with all the annoying people? Why was _he_ the one forced to save the galaxy time and time again? Whenever there was trouble, _he_ was the one stuck putting his life on hold yet again to make things better for everyone else. So much of the time, it seemed like he’d find himself swept away on one adventure or another, and while he had always believed he would enjoy adventuring, and most of the time, he did, it certainly didn’t leave him much time for himself. He was young when he wished such things. He was just a naïve kid when he wished to leave his home on Veldin and go adventuring. He hadn’t realized that sometimes it could be more trouble than it was worth, and frankly, he should have.

But, just because he had made one stupid wish when he was young, it didn’t mean he had to do these things forever, did he? Maybe he _would_ really retire, just like he had planned on in the past. Someone else could pick up the slack. Qwark should do it. He was the superhero. And maybe he wouldn’t be stuck seeing Qwark anymore if the guy was busy actually doing his job for once. Yep, Qwark should definitely do it from now on. He was sick of adventuring. And he was sick of Qwark. Two birds with one stone.

Ratchet kept himself up for some time longer with these thoughts before he was finally able to fall asleep, hoping he’d at least find some of the peace he had been wishing for in his dreams.


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

Ratchet found himself waking up in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold that had since retaken the room, but his reach for the blankets was halted when he noticed a strange glow emanating from behind him. He pushed himself up to peek over the armrest, straightening up further when he spotted a glowing Clank floating a couple feet off the ground.

“Clank, what’s going on? The Zoni aren’t trying to kidnap you again, are they?”

The robot chuckled, drifting closer to float before him, while Ratchet clutched the armrest with both hands. “No, everything is fine, though strictly speaking, I am not Clank. I am actually the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Huh?”

“You see, I know that you are upset over today’s events. You believe that your Christmas is going to be ruined because you will have to spend it with Captain Qwark. I believe it is also safe to say that you even feel your life would have been more relaxing if you had never begun adventuring in the first place. Is that correct?”

The Lombax watched the strange specter of his friend, head tilted to the side and one eye squinted. “And _how_ did you know I was thinking that?”

“Because, Ratchet, you are still dreaming, and I am, in a way, a mere figment of your subconscious. I know everything that you know. And I am here because I have something very important to show you.”

“Uh, yeah, well, could it wait until morning, because I’m kinda trying to sleep right now?” Ratchet attempted to lay back down, his only hope that this rather unsettling specter would get the hint and leave him be, so he could return to some relatively normal dreaming, as far as dreams went, but was startled back upright when he found Clank, or whatever it was that was taking his friend’s form, floating right before him over the coffee table.

“Ratchet, you are not getting out of this.” The robot held out one arm. “Take my hand.”

Ratchet leaned away, pressing his back into the couch behind him. “No…no thanks. I’m good.”

“Ratchet.”

The Lombax stared at him and then at the robot’s outstretched arm before moving a hesitant hand towards that of the ghost, squeezing his eyes shut when he touched it. What was this supposed to do anyway? He saw a redness in his eyelids and opened one eye and then another.

“Veldin?”

A dusty, desolate landscape lay before them, a plateau of gold sand and stone lit by a sun that was just beginning to rise between tall peaks of rock. The only signs of life were weedy plants and a few stunted trees and the distant clucking of desert hens that had just woken up, their sounds the only thing drawing attention to a worn-out, old building that almost blended into the landscape around it, a building that looked like it might return to this landscape before too many more years had passed.

“Yes, this is your old home,” Clank said, floating beside him. “And I am sure you recognize…”

“Veldin Orphanage.” Ratchet frowned and looked over at his friend. “Why did you bring me here? Wait, on second thought, _how_ did you bring me here?”

“This is a dream, Ratchet. I can do whatever I please. Come.”

Before he knew what was happening, they were standing in a room with beds lining either side, but now wasn’t a time for sleeping, the room now filled with the bustle of lizard-like Veld children in pajamas, waking up and jumping out of bed in quite the hurry, though it was not currently clear what all the excitement was about. The children began to scurry out of the room, speeded by the call of a woman downstairs. It wasn’t long before the room was empty, empty, that is, except for one lone child, still lying in bed. They lay on their stomach, arms wrapped around the pillow, only the back of their head visible, though that was enough to confirm that this child was different in more than just their lack of enthusiasm.

“Hey,” Ratchet began to walk around to the other side of the bed in an effort to see the child’s face, “is that…”

“Ratchet, get down here, or we may very well start without you!”

The young Lombax buried his face in the pillow with a groan, giving a mumbled “I’m coming!”

The elder Ratchet scratched his head. “Uh, hey…younger me? What’s wrong?”

The child pushed himself out of bed and, without so much as a glance at his older counterpart, shuffled by with a reluctance very much unlike the eagerness of the other children.

“Hey, where are you going? I was talking to you!”

“He cannot hear you,” Clank said. “This may be a dream, but it is also a depiction of the past. We are here only to watch.”

“Right…” Ratchet shrugged. “I guess…let’s get going, then.”

He began to follow his younger self out the doorway, turning the corner to overlook the room below, all the children gathered around a rather flimsy tree covered in crude, hand-made ornaments that had to be hung from tacks stuck in its trunk to make up for its lack of branches. Or perhaps their true focus was not the tree, but a familiar, slightly plump Veld woman with a down-sloping crest, wearing her usual, simple dress, who was currently handing out small presents in plain paper to each boy and girl that ran up to her.

“Miss Mirla.” Ratchet began to head downstairs, one hand trailing down the banister. “I remember her. Strict, but most of the time, she wasn’t so bad.”

He caught sight of his younger self, who had stopped a short distance behind everyone else, watching them with drooping ears and tail, hands fidgeting with each other. He stood out like a bent tail, as the saying went, the only Lombax in a room of Velds. He still remembered very well what that was like. It was an isolation he still felt years later from time to time.

“You must have been lonely,” Clank said.

“Yeah. I was always the outcast. Even when people didn’t treat me like I was, it still always felt that way.” He turned away from the younger Lombax to look at the robot beside him. “But, what’s the deal? I complain about one Christmas, so you show me another one that sucked?”

“If you do not know why I am showing this to you, then perhaps we must stay longer.”

Ratchet looked down, kicking one foot and trying to focus on anything but the child standing alone not far away. “Do we have to? I’d like to get _some_ rest while I’m, well, sleeping.”

He looked back at his friend when no answer was heard, finding the robot frowning at him, and looked away again.

By now, the other children had cleared out from around the tree, going off in groups to open simple gifts, all sitting on the large, dusty rug that covered much of the rough, wooden floor, a rug whose purpose was as much for looks as to prevent splinters, Miss Mirla holding one last present in her hands. She came forward, stopping before the young Lombax, who was busy staring at his feet.

“Ratchet, merry Christmas.” She held the gift out, and he looked up, grabbing it after just a bit more fidgeting. He stared down at it, then back up at her, mouth slightly open, before returning his attention to the object in his hands. He began to unwrap it, while she waited, folding her hands before her. Eventually, enough of the paper had been torn away that he was able to pull out a pair of knitted socks.

The older Ratchet gave a laugh. “It was always the same thing every year. Socks she had knitted herself. Not the most exciting of presents, but I guess it was good. I always wore mine out pretty fast.

The child looked up, forcing the slightest of smiles, though it did little for the look in his eyes that had yet to go away. “Thanks.”

The woman smiled back, hers with the feeling a smile ought to bear, and gave him a pat on the head. She could get away with it. Qwark, on the other hand, could not. “You’re welcome.”

Miss Mirla walked away, leaving the child standing there, socks still hanging from one hand, before he looked over at the other children that had already found friends to sit with. Friends that may all be lacking in families, just as he was, but at least they were the same. At least, they still belonged here on Veldin, and here together.

He had spent far too many years on his own, feeling like an outsider, even more than an orphan should, when at least everyone else shared the same features, while he…he was different. Different in appearance, with a different people to call his own, though he had yet to even meet someone of his own kind back then, from a different planet he had yet to see, and that he didn’t even know the name of. Not back then. Even now he was still on his own, but it was not quite the same as it was back then.

Ratchet turned away, heading towards the tree, moving around it as he inspected the ornaments, stopping when he found the one he was looking for, a rough rendition of a Lombax, made out of paint and paper and sticks and hanging from a string held up by a tack. It was clearly a child’s work, and thus lacking in some of the refinement needed to tell others what it was, but the color and the large ears made it more obvious what it was intended to be.

“You made that?” Clank asked.

Ratchet grinned, though based on his eyes, he still could feel what the child who had made it had. “It was nice not being the _only_ Lombax.”

He reached out to touch the ornament, then, pulled his hand back when it went right through.

“We are not actually here, remember? This is the…”

“Yeah, yeah.” After a pause, Ratchet looked back at his friend, eyebrow raised. “So I can go right through _this_ , but I can walk around without falling through the floor just fine?”

Clank shrugged, shaking his head. “I do not make the rules.”

“I made cookies! Come get them while they’re fresh!”

These words created another uproar, and Ratchet peeked around the tree to find Miss Mirla with a tray piled high with frosted cookies, the children nearly toppling each other over in their rush to reach the sweets with an enthusiasm that only hinted at the energy they’d have _after_ consuming the sugary snacks.

“No pushing! And only one per person!” With her free hand, she snatched one child by the sleeve who had grabbed a cookie in either hand, directing a withering glare at him, before he took a bite out of one, put it back, then, managed to run off with the other. “Tam!”

She huffed when he only looked back, but kept running, making no move to act further, though Ratchet knew under normal circumstances, her judgment was swift and inescapable.

The plate began to empty out, and she called out one final warning. “And don’t leave any crumbs! We have enough ants as it is!”

With the ruckus dying down, Ratchet began to make his way out from the relative safety of the tree. Whether the children could simply run right through him or not, a pack of stampeding children was not something he wanted to be in the middle of. He surveyed the room, filled with children wolfing down their treats like Miss Mirla may very well change her mind and take them back, the warning about crumbs appearing not to be taken into consideration.

He frowned, scanning the room. “Where’d I go?”

His younger self was indeed nowhere to be found, despite the fact that, with his differing appearance, he should have been rather easy to spot. On the hunt for his past self, Ratchet walked by Miss Mirla, who was currently considering the last cookie, the treat held in one hand, seemingly unaware of the child hiding behind her, in fact, the same one that had gotten away with a cookie and a bite earlier. He watched the treat with eyes clouded by avarice, before pouncing, reaching for it, but he was too slow. She pulled it away before he could even lay a finger on it, putting the cookie in her mouth to free up one hand to land a whack on his behind, the child letting out a squeal before making his escape. She removed the cookie from her mouth, now missing a piece. “Delinquent.”

Ratchet raised an eyebrow at this display before passing by, heading through the doorway into the next room, set aside for mealtime, complete with several wooden tables, chairs, and an old grandfather clock that never kept the proper time. He remembered he had attempted to fix it when he was older, thinking if he was to be a mechanic someday, and the inner workings of a clock appeared to be mechanical, that meant he should be able to repair it. He was wrong. From that day forth, the clock was purely decorative.

In here, windows that always stayed dusty no matter how many times they were wiped down let in weak light, and Ratchet listened, catching a quiet sound in addition to the ticking of the clock. He padded around the tables and chairs to find his child-self sitting in the corner, knees pulled to his chest and head buried in his arms, sobbing.

“Why were you crying?”

“Clank, why do I have to see this?”

“Believe me, you do.”

Ratchet looked away, leaning his back against the wall with arms crossed. “You already know. I was lonely.”

Clank sat on the end of the table before him, while Ratchet pointed a finger at him, coupled with an inquisitive look at how the robot managed to do so without going right through it. As before, Clank simply shrugged, the Lombax’s vague gesture being understood, as it only could be by close friends, before speaking again. “Yes, you were lonely, but it was Christmas. It is a time to be happy. Why are you not spending it with the other children?”

“Because. Because I’m not like them.”

“Does that matter?”

Ratchet turned away to walk farther from the other two. “It matters. I…I was different from everyone else. And they knew it. It…made a difference to _them_.”

“It does not matter to me that we are not the same. We are still friends regardless.”

He looked back. “No, _we_ are not friends. _You_ are just a figment of my imagination that just happens to _look_ like Clank.”

“And does that make my words any less true?”

Ratchet turned to face him fully again, shaking his head. “That…that doesn’t matter. Where are you going with this anyway?”

“Where I am going is I am trying to show you how much better your life is now. You do not have to be alone anymore. Maybe you do not always get along with Captain Qwark and your life is much busier now than it was during your time on Veldin, but at least you have people that care about you. Is that not worth the extra trouble?”

Ratchet marched back over, gestures increasing in intensity to match his mood. “So you made me watch all this over again to teach me some kind of a lesson? I know things sucked back then. I was living in an orphanage. Of course, I wouldn’t be happy. But, that also doesn’t mean I have to enjoy having my life constantly interrupted by wackos trying to take over the galaxy. And when I _do_ get time off, I don’t want to spend it with idiots like Qwark. This,” he waved an arm towards his younger self, “was not a fun time in my life, and I don’t need the reminder. But, that doesn’t make a difference with what’s happening in my life _now_.”

Clank shook his head. “I was hoping you would have understood the point I was trying to make.”

“Well, no, I guess I didn’t. So can we just…”

They looked over when Miss Mirla peeked into the room before coming in the rest of the way, empty tray in one hand, blinking behind the glasses perched on her snout. “Ratchet, are you in here?”

There were a few more sniffles, and then the room was silent again, but that was enough. She put the tray down on the table nearest her, then, made her way towards the source of the noise, the elder Ratchet moving out of the way.

“Ratchet, you really mustn’t cry. Come now, what’s the matter?” She knelt down when she reached the child, who turned to face the wall better, rubbing his face with one arm.

“I…I wasn’t crying.”

“You know you mustn’t lie. Now tell me, what is wrong?”

“I hate Christmas,” the younger Ratchet said, before breaking out into sobs again before he could suppress them.

“And why is that?”

“Because.”

“‘Because’ is not an answer.”

“Because,” he sniffled, rubbing his face more. “Because…” He sniffed again, blinking in thought. “Why aren’t there any other Lombaxes?”

“Is _that_ why you’re upset?”

He nodded, and she put her hands on either side of his head, making him face her before she wiped away his tears with one sleeve of her dress, the child squirming until she was finished. But even then, he didn’t look away, this time looking up at her and wiping his nose with one hand. “I don’t want to be alone.”

She moved to sit on her feet before she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her chest. “Dear, you won’t always be.” She patted his arm, and he made no further efforts to struggle. “You’ll surely have people to call family someday. Don’t you worry.”

The child made a muffled sound, but whether it was in agreement or just that, a sound, was not certain. At least, not to those that couldn’t know what had been going on inside the young Lombax’s head that day.

The older Ratchet walked away, wrapping his arms around himself again. “Can’t we just go?”

“Very well.”

Clank floated by him and through the wall of dusty windows, and Ratchet followed at a slower pace, stopping by the robot outside, the sun now higher, morning long begun, all the darkness now wiped from the sky.

“So, is that all? You just wanted to show me that I had it worse before?” Ratchet said, not looking at the other.

“Not just that. I wanted you to _think_.”

“You didn’t show me anything I didn’t already know. The worst part of my life was at that orphanage,” he turned to the robot, “but I finally left it. Things got better after that.”

“Did they now?”

“Yes,” he strode away, arms gesturing around him, “Because I was finally free. Free to lead my own life.”

“But, were you happy?”

He spun around. “Yes! Of course, I was.”

“And your life was peaceful, I suppose.”

“Yes, it was.” He turned away again, endless desert and rock ahead of him, but it was his home and always would be, even when he was separated from it by light years of space. It was where he had grown up, after all. “I may have been unhappy when I was a kid, but things were fine once I was on my own.” Everything was fine, back when I was still living on Veldin, and I could do as I pleased. When I could be left alone.

“We’ll see about that.”

And Ratchet had the feeling of falling, the ground and the sky rushing away past him until there was only the blackness of sleep again.


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Present

Back at home, on the couch, Ratchet awoke and snuggled further into the blankets wrapped about him that provided a much appreciated warmth to protect him from the chill currently pervading the room. Perhaps he had turned the thermostat a bit too far down, but getting up to turn the heater back on and braving the cold for even a few moments looked none too appealing. At least that weird dream was over. The Ghost of Christmas Past? What was _that_ all about?

He closed his eyes, ready to return to a, hopefully, normal sleep this time, but it wasn’t long before they shot open again. Last he remembered, the blankets should actually still be on the coffee table where Clank had left them….

“Ratchet…”

Oh, no, not this again. The Lombax pulled the blankets around himself tighter.

“Oh, Ratchet…”

He groaned, throwing the blankets over his head. If he ignored the source of the voice, maybe they would go away. Though, would he be able to get away with pretending to be asleep when he _was_ , technically, already sleeping?

“Ratchet, come on! I haven’t got all night!”

He groaned louder, throwing the blankets off himself and rising to his feet, fists clenched to his sides, before his arms were forced upwards to wrap around himself as he shivered in the chill air. “All right already!” he said, teeth chattering, as he looked over to direct a glare at the newest person that had the nerve to bother him, only to find no one, just the door to his bedroom partway open, illuminated from within by the soft glow of a lamp.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” He snuck around the couch, taking a quick detour to grab his wrench, holding it at the ready, before tiptoeing over to his bedroom and whatever horror surely lay in wait for him inside it. He pushed the door with one hand, and it creaked open further. Taking a deep breath, he then put this same hand on the edge of the doorframe and forced himself to peek around the corner.

“Come on in here, so we can get to know each other better,” said Captain Qwark, wearing a green robe with white fur trim (and was that, a fake beard?), not to mention a bizarre wreath on his head, reclining on Ratchet’s bed in a most horrifically seductive fashion, before winking at him.

Ratchet cried out, dropping the wrench, before making his retreat. “I can’t do this.”

It wasn’t long before Qwark emerged from the room after him and turned on the lights. “Hey, come on, I was only joking! And I didn’t even get to do my spiel!”

“I don’t care! And…I don’t need to see you in that ridiculous outfit any better than I already have!” He turned off the lights.

“It’s not ridiculous! It’s…old timey!” Qwark turned the lights back on. “Now, can I do it or what?”

Ratchet sat on the armrest of the couch and crossed his arms, suppressing another shiver as he avoided looking at the man directly, for such a sight was surely as dangerous as staring at the sun, and much more traumatic. “Fine. Just do it.”

“Good.” The man rose a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, before putting both hands to his waist, striking, what he believed, to be a dramatic pose. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Presents…”

Ratchet snorted. “Don’t you mean the Ghost of Christmas _Present_?”

Qwark glared at him. “Don’t you think I know what kind of ghost I am?”

The Lombax covered his mouth with one hand, attempting to suppress a laugh. “Never mind. Keep going.”

The superhero attempted to regain his composure, breaking it once more to say, “Are you happy? Now I have to start from the beginning. Ahem…I am the Ghost of Christmas Presents, and I am here this night, my fine friend, this night of magic and wonder, when all the children of the universe are waiting for the arrival of Santa Claus and his merry sleigh…”

Ratchet checked the clock. Maybe if he managed to wake up soon, he wouldn’t have to endure anymore of this.

One hand to his chest, Qwark continued, “Yes! I have arrived this night, not unlike the jolly, obese man himself, to show you, Ratchet, what could have been had you not met your friends and gone on to live the life of adventure you do now.”

The Lombax sighed. “I already went through this with Clank. I get it, my life is better now that I’m free of that orphanage, but I still think things were better back when I was still living on Veldin. And there’s certainly nothing you could show me that will make me change my mind.”

“Oh, really? Do you still think things would be better if you didn’t have to fight deranged lunatics attempting to destroy the universe?”

Ratchet blinked at him, ensuring this was an actual question that required an answer, before he said, “Yes…”

“Okay, okay, fair enough. But, do you still think your life would be better without your friends to bother you?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Ratchet said, dropping his hands into his lap. “Actually, the only person I didn’t want to see this Christmas was you.”

Qwark gasped. “Hey, that was completely uncalled for! I could see why you wouldn’t want to spend time with _Clank_ ; I mean, he’s not nearly as heroic and manly as _I_ am, but what could you possibly not like about _me_?” the superhero asked, both hands to his chest.

Ratchet lifted the finger of one hand, ready to begin counting, though it may take more hands than he had to list everything he could think of. “Well, to start…” His hand then dropped to his side, and he shook his head. “You know what, I’m not getting into this with you.” He stood and began to make his way around to the other side of the couch. “I’m not going anywhere else tonight, so just leave me alone and let me get some rest.”

Qwark crossed his arms. “No, really, what could you possibly have against me? Name _one_ thing!” He held up two fingers.

Having made it to the cushions, but finding peace to still be far off, Ratchet looked up at the man and said, “Okay, you want to hear one thing I don’t like about you, well, here it is! You’re an arrogant jerk that hogs all the glory for stuff you didn’t even do!” Seeing the second finger Qwark held up and being unable to resist the temptation, he leaned forward, sly grin growing across his face, both hands clutching the armrest. “And you know what else?”

Qwark looked horrified, his voice coming out in a near whisper. “What?”

“I don’t like your movies.”

The man reeled back as if he had been shot, not unlike the characters he played in his movies, that somehow managed to sustain a dozen gunshot wounds without slowing down. “How could you say such a thing? I thought we were friends! And my movies are awesome!”

“I can say it because this is just a dream, and the real Qwark isn’t going to find out, okay? So just leave me alone! I already don’t want to spend time with you tomorrow; I _really_ don’t want to see you in my sleep!”

Ratchet plopped down on the couch while Qwark attempted to recover from his nonexistent wounds and tried to form coherent sentences again, which was never his strong suit even on good days. Finally, his gibberish turned into actual words again. “I’m not getting paid enough to listen to this!”

The Lombax turned to sit backwards on the couch to look at the man again, face expressionless. “I doubt you’re getting paid at all.”

“You see, that just makes it even worse! And besides, it’s a figment of speech!”

Ratchet slapped a hand to his forehead. “Okay, one, it’s called a _figure_ of speech, and two, no, I really don’t think it’s even that.”

Qwark grabbed his false beard, tearing it off and throwing it to the ground. “That’s it! Apparently I can’t get that right, either!”

“Nope, I guess not. So can I just go back to sleep already…I mean, keep sleeping…or…can you just go away?”

The man eyed the Lombax with a stern look, wagging a finger at him while his other hand returned to his waist. “You’re being a very naughty boy, Ratchet. All the more reason you need my help.”

“I need you to go away.”

“You know what, fine!” Qwark turned away with an exaggerated motion, arms crossed and head held high. “I had something very important to show you, but I guess you just won’t get to see it.”

“Fine by me,” Ratchet said, taking this as a sign to lie back down. “And can you get the lights while you’re over there?” But, once he started to snuggle back into his blankets again, Qwark’s face appeared above him, and the Lombax rolled off the couch with a thud.

“Oh, come on, pretty please?”

Ratchet glared up at him from the floor. “You’re not going to give up until I go with you, are you?”

Qwark shook his head.

The Lombax grumbled under his breath as he attempted to disentangle himself from the blankets. Once on his feet again, he brushed himself off. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The superhero’s grin returned. “All righty! Now close your eyes.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I said close them!”

Ratchet rolled his eyes, before doing what he was told, and it wasn’t long before he heard giggling and light jazz versions of Christmas songs in the background. It took some willpower before he could open his eyes again, already prepared with a wince before he was even met with the sight of Qwark sitting on the couch in his condo, the place adorned with the usual decorations found around Christmas time, a Santa hat resting at a jaunty angle on the superhero’s head, with a good six or seven or more women (Ratchet was not about to focus enough on such a scene to get a proper count) draped all over him, with more crowded around the sofa, their sole purpose for being here to fawn over him, apparently, including a very friendly Courtney Gears that was very nearly in his lap.

“Don’t you worry, ladies, there’s plenty of me to go around. Am I right?” the Qwark on the couch said, flexing the muscles of one arm he managed to pry loose from the hoard of women surrounding him. “Because I’m enormous.”

The women giggled again, though at what, it would never be known, and Ratchet jerked his head away to face the Qwark beside him, a view that was not much better, however, the Lombax feeling ready to vomit right here and now.

“Ah, Christmas time. How could you not love it?” the robed Qwark said, attention directed at the scene Ratchet was currently trying very hard to erase from his memory.

Suppressing a gag at the thought of what lay not far behind him, Ratchet said, “What does this have to do with anything?”

“What do you mean? This is what Christmas would have been like if we hadn’t met.”

“So you’re just proving my point, then. _Your_ Christmas would have _also_ been better if we didn’t know each other.”

Qwark’s attention finally turned to him, smile gone. “No, that’s not—”

“So why didn’t you just have Christmas at _your_ place, then, if you had so many…uh, other visitors? Why did you have to come to _our_ place?”

The superhero’s eyes refused to stay put, looking from side to side as if they expected to find the answer to Ratchet’s questions in midair, while he tapped the index finger of either hand together. “Well, I…uh…because…” Finally, it seemed he had indeed found his answer, or at least, the equivalent of what his brain (or lack thereof) was capable of coming up with. “Because, we’re friends, and…friends…visit each other on holidays. At least, that’s what I _thought_ they did before I found out what you _really_ thought.”

Ratchet continued to stare at him. “Uh-huh… And any other reason?”

Once again, Qwark seemed to have a rather hard time meeting Ratchet’s gaze, as he scratched the back of his head. “And they…had other plans…”

“And _there_ we go. So,” he looked back over at the scene on the couch before turning away again once he regretted doing so, “don’t you have anything else to show me? I thought this whole thing was supposed to be about _me_.”

“Well, someone’s pretty self-centered today,” Qwark said, seemingly to an invisible entity beside him. “Okay, let’s go.” He directed his attention back to his counterpart on the couch, still buried in women, to add, “And _I’ll_ be seeing _you_ later, handsome.”

The image around them rushed away, hopefully to never haunt another soul ever again, and then Ratchet found himself back in a very familiar place.

“Welcome, Ratchet, this is…”

“I already know where this is. It’s Veldin. I was _just_ here.”

Indeed, the Lombax had found himself teleported once again to his old home planet, the desert surrounding them the same as before, though there was no orphanage in sight.

“Clank already showed me this place,” Ratchet continued. “I thought this was supposed to be Christmas _present_.” Or something along those lines.

“It _is_. Look.” He grabbed Ratchet by the head, turning him to face the other way. “ _This_ would be the present day you, if you had never met any of us. Sad, huh?”

Ratchet found himself looking at an exact replica of himself, still sitting in the garage he had spent so much time in on Veldin, though, things were not quite the same as he remembered. Other projects had been built, the finished ones scattered around outside the garage. The ship he had worked so hard on sat to the side, old and rusted and forgotten, while his alternate self was currently sitting on a stool before an unfinished hoverbike, though he didn’t appear to have the will to work on it right now, instead resting his head on one fist, wrench in his other hand, with eyes that seemed to be focused on something far off and out of reach.

Ratchet took several steps forward to get a better look at this other version of himself. “Wait a minute, why would I still be on Veldin? I left years ago.”

“Not without Clank, you wouldn’t. Remember, you needed him to start your ship. He was your…Robotic Ignition System, as I like to call it.”

“Yep, because that’s what it’s actually called.”

“Without him, your ship would never have started. And try as you may, you were never able to build one of your own.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I _could_ have.”

Qwark stepped forward and knelt on one knee to put an arm around him. “No, Ratchet, you wouldn’t have.”

“No, I really—”

Qwark shook his head. “Nope. You never could do it.” The man stood, striding forward. “You never completed your ship, and so you had no choice but to eventually resign yourself to your fate. To be stranded on this dusty, old rock of a place.”

“Actually, this ‘rock’ was my home, and…”

“I know. And I feel sorry for you.”

“…and I…”

“And now all you have left is your rotting space ship…and your dreams to keep you company.” Qwark ended with a dramatic stare upwards into the heavens.

Ratchet came up beside him, leaning around to see the other man’s face, who had yet to finish with his dramatic pose. He sighed. “Okay, let’s just say, hypothetically, I couldn’t have built my own Robotic Ignition System.”

“Because you couldn’t.”

“Okay, fine. But, why couldn’t I _still_ have met Clank?”

Qwark looked down at him again. “Because Clank is what started all of this in the first place, remember? Once you met Clank, you were able to leave this place with him, which not only led to you meeting me (which I _still_ don’t see a problem with), but which also led to you going on all kinds of adventures and being forced to fight Nefarious and all sorts of other evil-doers. Your life would have only been peaceful if you _hadn’t_ met Clank.” He gestured to the other depiction of Ratchet, still sitting in the garage with the same glum look as before. “See, peaceful.”

“I still don’t think _that_ ,” Ratchet jabbed a thumb at his other self, “would’ve been my only option. I didn’t say I didn’t want to meet Clank or go on _some_ adventures. I just didn’t want to be stuck saving the galaxy all the time when I didn’t feel like it.”

“Uh-huh. And you didn’t want to get stuck meeting me, right?”

“Well…maybe I was a little harsh….”

“Wonderful! I knew you didn’t mean it!” The superhero prepared to scoop Ratchet up in his arms for a big hug, pausing in this act when the Lombax continued.

“But, I still don’t see why I couldn’t have met Clank without…”

The superhero frowned in antiquation of his next words.

“…without…going on so many adventures,” Ratchet finished, scratching his head.

“Because, I already told you. The only reason you went on all those adventures was because you met Clank. And the deal was that you’d help him find me (because _Clank_ doesn’t seem to have a problem with me, at least) in exchange for him helping you off Veldin.”

“I know, but I could have made different decisions _after_. And,” he gestured again at the other Lombax, “this depiction is still not accurate. I _would_ have gotten off of Veldin, with or without Clank’s help, and my life _would_ have been fine.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Yes, it would—”

Qwark thrust out one arm, pointing at what lay behind the Lombax, his other hand going to his face. “Hey, would you look at that!”

Ratchet looked over, eyes widening at what he saw.

“And did I mention you’d be balding?”

“What? Why would I be balding?”

Now his other self had a very obvious receding hairline, complete with a reflective scalp. Ratchet spun back around to face Qwark, arms waving and voice raised. “Why would I be going bald? I’m not bald _now_! And Lombaxes don’t even go bald!”

“Oh, they don’t, huh? Well, how about _this_?”

The Lombax looked back to find that his alternate self was now eating a slice of cake held in one hand, glove stained with frosting, which could be the only explanation for the noticeable increase in weight.

“And _why_ would I be _fat_?” Ratchet asked, breathing heavily.

Qwark crossed his arms. “Oh, so now you’re going to tell me that Lombaxes don’t get fat, either.”

Ratchet’s hands went to his forehead. “No, but…” He forced his hands back down as he attempted to compose himself, breathing deeply. “I’ll admit, some of what you say _may_ be true. _Maybe_ I wouldn’t have had so many adventures. I’ll admit I did enjoy most of them. And _maybe_ I wouldn’t have gotten off of Veldin. Maybe. But, at the very least, your depiction of me is still all wrong. I _know_ I wouldn’t have been miserable like you want me to believe.”

Qwark sniggered at something behind him, and Ratchet’s jaw tightened, the Lombax biting his lower lip before he forced himself to look back once again, his other self now sporting a large, black mustache that curled at the ends. “A mustache? Really?”

The superhero sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit a lot of this is pure speculation.”

“Because it’s all wrong.”

“But, the point I’m trying to make here is, you’d be alone. Do you really want that?”

“I would’ve met Clank.”

“No, we’ve been through this. If you didn’t want to get caught up in all this, you wouldn’t have been able to meet Clank. At the very least, you couldn’t have gone with him.”

“How else would _he_ have gotten off the planet?”

“I don’t know! But, I do know that a lot of things happened as a result of you meeting Clank that you wished hadn’t, but wasn’t it all worth it? The adventuring and the fame. And admit it, I know that deep down, you and I are good friends.”

“Well, ‘friends’ is kind of a strong word…”

“Exactly. I knew you’d eventually come around to my way of thinking.”

Ratchet rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, looking away from the grinning superhero. “Well, I _still_ think I would’ve met someone.’

Qwark frowned, and Ratchet’s ears twitched at a sound coming from behind him, the high-pitched squealing of children. Against his better judgment, his head made a slow turn, and then he was jumping backwards, a yelp coming unbidden to his lips, as he watched half a dozen children, a freakish combination of Lombax and lizard, running outside from a small hut that had materialized nearby to meet their balding, obese, and mustached father, running circles around him as he directed a forlorn look at his unfinished ship and took another bite of cake.

“What the— This is just getting ridiculous!”

“Well, you’re not alone now.”

Just then, another figure emerged from the doorway the children had come through, a Veld woman, who eventually stopped by her Lombax husband’s side and began to lean in closer, while the unblemished Ratchet’s head jerked away with a grimace on his face. “Oh, come on! Now you’re just doing this to be a jerk! I would not have married a lizard!”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No, I would not!”

“You never know. She _is_ kinda hot.” Qwark gave a growl in his throat.

“No, she’s not!”

“Then, why’d you marry her?”

“I didn’t!” Ratchet threw his head back, trying to decide what, if anything, could be said that could get through to the man standing before him. “Look, Qwark, I would have found a way off Veldin on my own. I would have made friends, and I wouldn’t have been alone. And I would not have married a lizard!” He paused, furrowing his brow, and then his eyes grew wide as a new thought hit him.

“Actually, you know what…years ago, Dr. Nefarious was going to use the Biobliterator on Veldin, but I stopped it. Qwark, tell me someone _else_ would have stopped him if _I_ hadn’t.”

The superhero had grown silent, currently staring straight ahead with his hands behind his back.

“Qwark, I know this whole alternate universe version of me is all made up. Don’t deny it. What would things really have been like if I hadn’t met Clank? Why didn’t you show me what _really_ would have happened?”

Qwark gave a short laugh, and though he tried to force half a smile, no emotion reached his voice. “Sorry, Ratchet, but I didn’t have access to _that_ footage.”

“But…”

The sky began to grow dark, as storm clouds, black and violent, began to move out of nowhere, overtaking the sky until just an uneven circle of blue remained, and then not even that. The air began to grow cold, colder than he had ever felt on Veldin before, and he was wrapping his arms around himself for warmth, his breath coming out in clouds that were blown away as the wind began to pick up around them, lightning striking from above.

“Qwark, what’s going on?” But even as Ratchet yelled, his voice was snatched away by the wind as soon as it left his mouth, and he could only wonder if the other man had heard it.

Qwark looked all about him, at the gathering storm, and when he finally turned back to Ratchet, he looked infinitely older and frail, not at all the superhero he once was.

“Qwark, why—”

“I’m sorry, Ratchet! I…I tried, but…I couldn’t stop him on my own…”

Ratchet attempted to reach for him, the wind whipping at his ears and clothes, pulling him away, and then Qwark was gone, and as he looked around, so was everything else, his other self and the garage and the unfinished spacecraft.

And then, just like that, it stopped, the wind dying down and the lightning withdrawing, but the air remained cold and the sky dark. And the planet of Veldin, even then, remained dead.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Future

Ratchet shivered, the cold biting at him as he paced from side to side, no sign of life remaining on the plateau, only trees that were long withered and dead, and most importantly of all, there was no Qwark and not even the man’s ridiculous depiction of an alternate Lombax. Now he truly was alone, the kind of alone his friends claimed he would have had without them, even if he didn’t believe it. He called out for them, Clank or even Qwark, pleading for them to appear to him again, as they had before, but they did not, and he could only hope this dream would end before it progressed any further into the nightmare it was becoming.

He spun around, eyes growing wide, a white puff of breath escaping him, as he spotted a tall figure, cloaked in black, with nothing but two glowing red eyes to signify a face was indeed under there. The form moved towards him, cloak billowing unnaturally with the movement, not unlike the dark clouds that hung above.

“Who are you?” he said, and the shape stopped, looking down at him, and Ratchet tried to keep his teeth from chattering in the cold.

A voice, a low hiss, escaped the specter before him, only setting the Lombax’s heart pounding harder than ever. “Greetings, Ratchet. We meet at last. I…” The voice stopped, and Ratchet blinked at the figure in the cloak, whose voice began to rise, becoming one more familiar. “I can hardly see out of this stupid thing!”

Ratchet flinched as the figure began to fight with their cloak, attempting to free themselves of it, but only getting caught up in it all the more from their struggling.

“How do I get this thing offa me! It’s so confining! Lawrence, help me!” And then the figure met with success, revealing the form of Dr. Nefarious himself as he tugged the cloak off, tossing it to the ground and stomping it into the dust before finally settling down, doing a surprising amount of heavy breathing for one lacking lungs, while the components under his glass dome spun wildly.

“Nefarious? You’re—”

The robot thrust out a hand, pointing at the Lombax with one metallic claw. “Ratchet, I am the Ghost of Christmas Future, and I am going to annihilate you!”

“Can you do that? I thought this was just a dream.”

Nefarious withdrew his arm, hands turning into fists at his sides. “Oh, darn it, you’re right!” But, his composure was quick to return, and he clasped his hands together, a wicked grin appearing on his face. “Nevertheless, I do have something for you. Now, Ratchet, do you want to see what _really_ would have happened if things had gone differently?”

Ratchet couldn’t help but delay in following Nefarious as he marched towards the edge of the plateau with exaggerated steps, but finally he forced himself forward, where he stopped beside the robot, who was rubbing his hands together, face brimming with pride over what lay before them.

It took a moment for the Lombax to register what he was seeing. While the place bore some resemblance to his old home, with its vast plains and towering plateaus, all other features were foreign to him, the sickly clouds, now likely more due to pollution than to an approaching storm, now that he gave them another look, not to mention the empty landscape, soil that should be vibrant and golden, now dull and grey. The place was dead, even the scant life of his Veldin nowhere to be found. He looked away.

“This is…this is awful! What is this place?” It couldn’t be…

“Oh, I think you know very well where we are. This is Veldin, or at least, it _was_ Veldin, before I came here with my Biobliterator.”

Ratchet backed away. “No…”

Nefarious turned to him, folding his arms behind him. “What’s the matter? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“No, this was never what I wanted!”

“No? You didn’t want your life to be constantly interrupted by turmoil, not to mention Captain Qwark, and who can blame you? You simply must understand that _this_ ,” he rose his arms to gesture about them, “is the logical future that would have resulted. So why aren’t you happy, Lombax?”

“I didn’t mean I wanted this! And…why did it have to go this far? Wasn’t there anyone else that could have stopped you?”

Nefarious crossed his arms, one hand to his chin, head tilted in mock contemplation. “Let’s see… Nope, I don’t believe there was.”

“But, why couldn’t Qwark have stopped you? He’s done it before!”

The robot barked out a single laugh. “Oh, you’re too funny. Yes, I’ll admit that Captain Qwark’s gotten lucky in the past, but this time, I was ready for him.”

Ratchet looked all about him as the light began to dim, like a twilight approaching all too quickly, only their spot on the plateau visible while everything else went to black, like it had ceased to exist, and they and this patch of land were the last things left on this world. And then a dark shape came into view, high above, but he was unable to make out its identity in the now feeble lighting.

Nefarious began a casual walk across the space, explaining along the way, “In case you didn’t realize, when you defeated Qwark and stopped that squishie, Drek, all those years ago, the public was none the wiser that their beloved superhero had actually sided with the Blarg just for the money it would make him. But, without you in the picture, this, of course, did not come to pass. Qwark’s loyalties came to light as dozens of planets across the Solana Galaxy were destroyed to make the new Blarg homeworld, and his reputation was tarnished.”

He reached where the scant lighting began to fade to black, turning on one heel in a most dramatic fashion. “So, when I showed up, Qwark decided to try and redeem himself in the public eye by defeating me just as he had in the past. And do you want to know where it got him?”

Ratchet wasn’t sure he did, but without waiting for an answer, the robot grasped a lever nearby, the space revealing itself to be a large room with a tall ceiling, the object above a cage hanging by a chain. With utmost glee, the supervillain pushed the lever down, dropping the cage to the floor to show the prisoner inside, a forlorn Captain Qwark, who jerked his head around at the sudden movement of his prison, holding on to the bars behind him to keep his balance from the jolt the cage had made when it struck the ground, though his eyes did not catch sight of the Lombax in front of him.

Ratchet gasped, even if he already knew what the cage surely held before it had even landed, and ran forward, grabbing the bars of the cage with both hands. “Qwark, I’m sorry…”

The robot cackled. “Now it’s really not so bad, is it? If you hadn’t met him, it’s not like you’d know what fate had befallen him anyway. Plus, he certainly won’t be bothering you anytime soon.”

Ratchet spun to face him. “Stop using what I said against me! This is horrible! You’re…you’re…awful!” Ratchet finished, unable to think of a word strong enough to describe the robot and his actions.

Nefarious looked none perturbed by this statement, continuing to grin, receiving no shortage of pleasure from an alternate reality more to his liking. “I know. And I appreciate the feedback. You don’t always get that in my line of work.”

“So that’s it? You were just going to keep him in this cell for the rest of his life?”

The robot began to stroll back in his direction. “No, I let him out _some_ times. If he could be the spokesperson for that moron, Drek, then surely he can put in a good word for me to the remaining squishies I haven’t converted yet.” He stopped nearby. “Plus, I have to free him sometimes to use the bathroom. Otherwise, it would be a real mess.”

“Well, what about Clank? I wasn’t the _only_ one that stopped all those scumbags in the past.” Nefarious raised an eyebrow as Ratchet continued, “He was always there to do half the work. Why couldn’t _he_ have done something?”

Nefarious looked off to the side in thought and put a claw to his chin, his voice low. “Oh, yes, the talking backpack. I had almost forgotten about him….”

“Yeah, well, what about him? What happened to Clank?” Though, he wasn’t entirely sure if he really wanted to know.

The robot walked away, tapping his chin. “Yes, what _did_ happen to Clank? Well, having failed to stop Drek by himself, he _certainly_ wasn’t able to stop _me_.”

“Yeah, and what _happened_ to him?” the Lombax repeated.

It wasn’t until now that Ratchet began to take notice of an image starting to form not far from where the robot had stopped, like a small section of scenery that didn’t belong in this place, tall reeds and grasses, some kind of marshland, but ghostly, fading away at the edges. And there, amidst it all, was his friend, the small robot dotted with mud, wandering, seemingly lost, but moving with a purpose that spoke of some task that needed to be done and some desperate need to do it.

“Since you decided you’d rather hide away on Veldin, your friend was forced to fill the void you had left. He was able to slow Drek’s acquisition of other planets, but was not successful at completely stopping it on his own. And now, he’s been doing his best to prevent me from converting anymore planets to my rule.” He squatted down to get a closer look at the smaller robot, one arm outstretched, his voice a low growl. “I’ve been meaning to capture him one day.” And his claw tightened on the throat of the ghostly Clank, who had stopped to look at something unseen by the two of them, but with fear in his eyes, and then the entire image turned to smoke and began to drift upwards.

Nefarious stood, and it wasn’t long before the smoke bore no resemblance at all to what it just was, though the Lombax continued to watch the space where Clank had just been.

Ratchet’s hands began to tighten into fists, his arms shaking. “Why did you have to show me all this? This…this is horrible! Why would anyone even want a future like this? Why would you want to do this to everyone?”

Nefarious began to come towards him, each footstep bringing with it the clang of metal. “Why would _you_ say you wished for a different life when the one you lived _prevented_ such a future?”

“I…I didn’t know,” Ratchet said, looking up as the robot drew closer.

The supervillain stopped, towering over him. “No, you didn’t, did you?”

Ratchet began to back up. “But, I didn’t mean it! I would never want things to be this way! If this is how the future really would’ve been, I’m glad about all the decisions I made! Even if…even if it means spending Christmas with Captain Qwark and…having to put my life on hold to stop you the next time you show up.” Ratchet halted in his retreat, standing tall, finally looking the robot in the eye again. “It’s worth it, and I’m glad to do it. And I’ll keep doing it as long as I have to so I can prevent any other horrible futures.”

The robot sighed. “I thought you’d say that.”

The blackness around them began to retreat, like a physical thing, until the dead planet was visible again, but it was not so horrible a sight this time, as Ratchet knew it was only part of a future that he had already prevented from happening. And such a thing never would happen because he would never allow it.

He looked over to find Nefarious back at the edge of the plateau, looking out over just one bit of his hypothetical victory with crossed arms. He padded over to stand beside the robot, sly grin on his face.

“So…at least you got to see what could’ve been for a short time, huh? Not that it helps the _real_ Nefarious any, though.”

The robot snorted, eyes narrowing further.

Ratchet looked back at the barren landscape stretching out far below them, his smile disappearing. He really couldn’t imagine how anyone could actually want such a thing. He really couldn’t imagine how he had actually been able to _stop_ such a thing.

“I sure made a big difference, didn’t I?” Ratchet said, his voice soft.

Nefarious shrugged. “For a squishie…”

The Lombax continued to stare out at this, fortunately, failed bleak future, before his grin returned when a certain thought hit him, and he looked back at the robot beside him.

“You know, Nefarious, or, uh…whatever you are, _you_ really could use a visit from these ghosts sometime, you know what I mean? It could prevent some really terrible stuff from happening. And it would save _me_ a lot of trouble, too.” He added, “I mean, the _real_ Nefarious could—”

The robot growled, fists going to his sides. “I know what you mean, you twit! And no, I _don’t_ need any ridiculous ghosts to visit me! All I _need_ is for you and Clank and Captain Qwark to die so I can have my robotic empire!” He spun to face the Lombax, face much too close. “Do you know what _I_ mean?”

Ratchet backed away, hands up. “Okay, okay, I was just sayin’—”

“I know what you were saying!”

“All right!”

Nefarious straightened, crossing his arms for only a moment more before going into another fit, stomping one foot. “I don’t even know how _you_ could be whining about how your life’s gone anyway! _I’m_ the one who never gets my way, and you don’t see _me_ complaining!”

“You’re complaining right now—”

“Only because you started it!”

“All right, I get it, forget I said anything.”

The robot returned to staring out across the plain below, arms crossed again, fingers fidgeting in a most threatening manner, and Ratchet decided it would be best to keep his distance, lest he find that death by dreaming was a very real possibility, after all. And now that things had settled down, and there could surely be no more ghosts to visit him this night, it was likely time to leave this dreamscape for the kind of dreams that typically visited him each night. But first, there were a few more things he wanted to find out.

“Uh, Nefarious…ghost…person, are there any other ghosts besides you three?”

“Of course, there are!” The robot turned his head to him. “You didn’t think _Christmas_ was the only holiday with ghosts, did you?”

“I honestly wasn’t aware that Christmas had _any_ ghosts, actually.”

“Typical squishie,” the robot said under his breath. “There are plenty of other ghosts, but most of them are boring ones, like the Ghost of Mother’s Day Past or the Ghost of That Idiotic Thing You Did the Other Day That Will Come Back to Bite You Later.”

“Huh. I did…not know that.”

Nefarious grinned. “I’m sure Qwark’s had plenty of visits from that _last_ one.”

Yep, Ratchet wouldn’t doubt that for a second. “And, uh…one more thing…” The Lombax kicked the dust with one foot, hands behind his back. “Uh…Nefarious, I’m not eventually going to go…bald, am I?”

The robot sniggered, looking off into space, likely picturing this very thing. “Oh, yes, that _would_ be funny,” he said to himself.

“Well, would I or wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t, right?”

“No, you’re not going to go bald. Didn’t you know that Lombaxes don’t go bald, you moron?”

Ratchet frowned, ready to defend himself, when the robot continued over him.

“But, I _will_ tell you now, sometime in the future, I won’t say when, you’ll…” He began to chuckle at the Lombax’s future fate.

Ratchet leaned forward. “Yeah? What happens?”

Nefarious began to laugh harder. “You’ll…”

“What? What is it, tell me!”

The supervillain’s laughter halted in favor of raising one finger skyward in a most dramatic fashion. “You’ll…”

Ratchet stared at him and, feeling it needless to repeat the same question yet again, simply gave a shrug that said the same thing.

“You’ll burn off one of your eyebrows misusing a Pyrocitor!”

“Oh, that’s all?”

Nefarious dropped his arm back to his side. “But, don’t you get it? For a good two weeks, you’ll look like a complete moron!”

“No, I get it. I’m just relieved I won’t go bald.”

“Is it time to clean your dome yet, sir? I have the glass cleaner ready. And I promise I won’t leave any streaks this time.”

Ratchet’s head shot to the side. “What, _you’re_ here, too?”

“Unfortunately,” Lawrence said, before pulling a carton of eggnog out of nowhere. “Eggnog, anyone?”

Nefarious clapped his hands together. “Oh, yes, please!”

***---***

Ratchet sat upright from where he had been lying on the couch, panting and sweating and blinking in the bright sunlight of morning, as he wondered what in the galaxy had just gone on last night, and whether or not it really was just a simple dream or possibly something more. Though, at the same time, he also hoped he’d never have to find out.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a door opened nearby, but all he found was a yawning Captain Qwark with arms stretched over his head, adorned in light blue pajamas decorated with images of himself all over it. The door to Clank’s room was already open, signifying the little robot to be up, as well, but currently hidden from sight.

“Brrr, it’s freezing in here!” Qwark said, before turning up the thermostat on the wall beside him, holding the up arrow for much longer than Ratchet would have liked, though with some willpower, the Lombax managed to keep his mouth shut. He’d just send Qwark the bill later. This done, the superhero continued, “Man, I slept like a log. What about you, Ratchet?”

More important things on his mind, and no one would believe him anyway if he told them how _his_ night had gone, Ratchet jumped over the back of the couch as Clank approached with a plate of frosted cookies, the Lombax’s head going from side to side as he surveyed the apartment for anything out of the ordinary. This was the real thing, right? Nefarious wasn’t now going to appear out of nowhere, and he’d be forced to deal with all three of them at once, was he?

“I…” Ratchet dropped to his knees and hugged Clank. “It’s good to see you, Clank.”

“It is…good to see you, too, Ratchet. I know how you like to have your Christmas cookies in the morning, so I got up extra early and made them.”

“Hey, don’t leave _me_ out!”

Ratchet found the two of them lifted into the air by Qwark, Clank having to hold the plate of cookies up over his head to avoid them from getting knocked from his grip.

“Isn’t this great?” Qwark said, squeezing them tight. “There’s nothing like a great, big dude-hug to start the day off right.”

“Yeah, that’s nice, Qwark. Can you put us down, please?” Ratchet said, voice strained as his lungs were denied the proper amount of air, while his feet dangled high above the floor.

“Oh, all right, but I was just starting to really get into it.” The superhero put them down, and Ratchet massaged his aching sides. “Okay, so now we gotta open our presents,” Qwark continued, clapping his hands together, “and then we can watch some of my movies! Which one’s mine?”

Oh, crap. Ratchet grabbed one of the cookies and took a bite, watching the man as he searched through the gifts under the tree on all fours.

“Which one _is_ it? None of these seem to have my name on it.”

“I’m sure it’s in there somewhere, Qwark.” Ratchet looked over at Clank, shrugging at his friend, who shrugged in return, gestures all gone unnoticed by the man before them, who had currently managed to squeeze most of himself under the tree in his search. Hey, it wasn’t _his_ fault. He didn’t know the guy was coming. But, now that he thought of it, he supposed it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, after all.

***---***

Some hours ago, in an undisclosed section of the galaxy, a certain robotic supervillain was getting ready for a good night’s rest, not that he needed sleep anymore, but some good relaxation time would be nice after an evening spent terrorizing defenseless squishies. He really should do that more often.

And so Dr. Nefarious snuggled under the blankets of his bed, as unnecessary as they were for someone with no body heat, but it was a comfort he enjoyed during his time as an organic that he hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to give up. But, it wasn’t long before his solitude was interrupted when he heard a quiet “ahem” from nearby. He growled, one eye popping open to find his robotic butler standing at his bedside, hands folded in front of him.

Nefarious shot up to a sitting position, glaring at Lawrence, though his butler did not so much as flinch. “Get out of my room, Lawrence! I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that!”

“I’ll try to stare more softly next time, sir.”

When the shorter robot made no sign he was leaving, Nefarious asked, “Do you _need_ something Lawrence?”

“Actually, now that you mention it…” Lawrence mimicked clearing his throat. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

Nefarious stared at him. What in the universe was he talking about? And why did this all seem strangely familiar…?


End file.
